


taste the sting of violent hands

by smallredboy



Series: protect me from what i want [3]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Denial of Feelings, Developing Relationship, Episode: s02e10 Naka-Choko, M/M, Murder, Pre-Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter, Touching, Trans Will Graham, Will Graham's Becoming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-28
Updated: 2020-02-28
Packaged: 2021-02-27 21:48:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 848
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22932826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smallredboy/pseuds/smallredboy
Summary: Hannibal takes care of Will's injuries after he kills Randall Tier.
Relationships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Series: protect me from what i want [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1615912
Comments: 2
Kudos: 83
Collections: Allbingo, Trope Bingo: Round Fourteen





	taste the sting of violent hands

**Author's Note:**

> **allbingo's valentines day fest:** revenge  
>  **trope bingo:** loss of innocence  
>  **trans bingo:** be still my beating heart
> 
> enjoy!

"I'd say this makes us even," Will says, looking at Hannibal across the room, Randall Tier's body in between them. "I sent someone to kill you… you sent someone to kill me. Even Steven."

He recalls the thought that he had managed to do it fondly. He remembers the euphoria of having Jack come to his cell, anger all over his face, before saying that Hannibal had survived. His euphoria quickly faded into frustration; of course Matthew Brown hadn't managed to do it, of course Jack had stepped in. He had pushed Jack into telling him exactly what happened, as if he didn't know he was as guilty as charged— he schooled his expression into one of neutrality, as much as hearing about Hannibal be bled and hung created far too many endorphins in his brain.

And now— did Hannibal expect him to die, or did he know he'd kill Randall Tier without a second of doubt? He knows him far too well to think he would've perished to Tier. He expected him to kill him, to fantasize that he had killed Hannibal instead. He's thirsty for revenge, from head to toe; he's had dream after dream where he kills Hannibal one way or another.

(He tries not to think about the one where Hannibal says he loves him. It distracts him from his goal, from his hunger for vengeance.)

"It's an act of reciprocity," Hannibal says, walking toward him. "Did you kill him with your hands?"

He looks down at his own hands, knuckles bloody and bruised. The thrill of fantasizing it was Hannibal who he was killing was so huge he _had_ to kill him with his hands. It wasn't worth it to kill him with a gun— there's no intimacy there.

"Yes," he says.

"Let me take care of that," Hannibal says, leading him towards the bathroom. He gets a bowl full of warm water and some bandages, grabbing Will's wrists ever so gently as he presses them against the water, blood flowing freely before he starts to put the bandages around them.

"Did he manage to fight back in any way? I might have to check you for other injuries."

Will shrugs. "Some scratches here and there," he says. He enjoys the feeling of Hannibal actually taking care of him— it's a tad ironic, a tad ridiculous, but he likes it. He pushes the thought of his dream to the back of his mind forcibly.

"I'd like to take care of them, Will," he says. "The adrenaline might make you feel like you're not in pain, so I have to see if there's anything serious."

Will sighs and starts pulling off his shirt. "I know it would be the very least awful thing of all you've done to me," he says as he puts his shirt on one of the chairs. "But _please_ don't be creepy about my chest."

"I won't," Hannibal says as he starts to trace lines across his abdomen, pressing his fingers against the scratch marks. "Your surgeon did a very good job," he says, even though he's not looking at his chest; he's pressing cotton with rubbing alcohol to the scratches, making him wince.

"I can only imagine you wish you were my surgeon," he mumbles. "Probably would've tampered with the anesthesia or something."

"When I was a surgeon, I kept my job very separate from my crimes," he says as he pulls the cotton away.

"And what changed with psychiatry? A bigger influx of broken people to manipulate?"

Hannibal shrugs. "You could say so. You can put your shirt back on, Will."

"Jeez, thanks," he says. He looks at Hannibal. He knows it's the bare minimum, and that he's far worse than anything else he's ever encountered, but the fact Hannibal refuses to be weird about who he is makes something inside him stir.

He ignores the dream, and he puts his shirt back on.

"Did you fantasize you were killing me instead of Randall Tier, Will?" Hannibal asks as he leads him back to the dining room.

Will swallows. "Yes." He pauses. "That's why I did it with my hands. Wanted to… relish the experience."

"Guns lack intimacy," Hannibal says. "Now, I believe we owe something to Randall Tier."

"Do we?"

"Yes," he nods. "I believe we should put him where he always wanted to be."

There's a long pause, and Will feels something stir in him. He doesn't know what it is; it's a funny feeling. He wants to call it blood thirst or something, and not what he knows it is.. "What, in your plate?" he jokes halfheartedly.

"No," he says. "A display in the natural museum."

Will nods. "You can teach me the ins and outs of mutilating a body," he says.

He's joining in, now. He's doing more than he ever did before. It's a loss of innocence worse than realizing what Hannibal really is— it's the loss of a literal, lawful innocence. He's going to participate in the mutilation of a corpse.

He smiles. He can't find it in him to be mad.


End file.
